My Father the Phantom
by AlexGhost
Summary: Ten years have passed since Christine won her freedom from Erik in that one night of ecstasy. Her love should have killed him, yet here he stands outside her window, gazing longingly inside. But something is different, what could it be? Leroux/Kay Modern
1. Chapter 1

**Thanks for stopping by, I hope you enjoy the story. It's been a long time since I've updated a story on this site , a few years I think, but I feel that my writing skills have improved vastly in that time and that I'm ready to strike up a new yarn for you to read. The main theme of this fic will be comedy but I hope to weave in darker elements as well. Please review and know that I'd greatly appreciate critiques and suggestions for improvement if you have the time.**

My father the Phantom

Chapter 1

The unusual family reunion

"_How long has it been?"_

The thought echoed out, greeted by the calls of night birds and the soft hush of the spring evening. Only the shadows witnessed my passing as I dodged the halos of light cast by the lamps lining the street. I preferred it this way. The night has always enveloped me in its arms like a friend, a partner in crime, a veil to conceal my ugliness, my longing.

"_Since I saw you last?_"

The second thought remained unspoken as I scanned the addresses posted on the mailboxes lining the street, searching for the right one.

"_Ten years, ten years I should have been dead." _

I stopped beside a mailbox, _the _mailbox. White paint stood in place of where the small, plastic address plaque should have been, the sloppily drawn numbers totaling to 1881. I turned to the house, it was small, and the siding painted a shade of off white mingled with green that was neither attractive nor unattractive. It differed little from the other houses in the neighborhood.

A flash of doubt crossed my mind as I stared at the unassuming structure. Why on earth would the boy, a count, have chosen to live in such a place as this? With that old money of his he could have taken her anywhere, to Europe, the Caribbean, to any hidden mansion or sun kissed beach. Was my information incorrect? Had Jules mislead me? No, he couldn't have, his mind is broken beyond repair, nothing but a puppet inhabits that man's body now.

I moved slowly through the deepest shadows, pulling the rim of my black felt fedora down and letting the shrubbery growing along the wall of the house partially conceal me as I made my way towards one of front windows. A warm light filled the room behind the glass and my eyes, attuned to the shade at that point, strung briefly as I gazed within. My sight adjusted and my doubts were wiped away.

She stood alone, her golden hair tied back in a long tail as she worked away at the few remaining dishes from what had perhaps been that evening's supper. Her expression was serene, her eyes distant as she worked mechanically at the repetitive task. She was humming softly and I caught the string of sound through the thin glass like a ribbon carried away on the wind. Her voice . . . that siren's call.

"_Your love should have killed me."_ My throat grew dry as I listened to her. My fingertips tingled with the remembered sensation of brushing against her hair and her soft, warm skin. The cool evening breeze carried the sensation away and I was suddenly aware of the glass, the wood, and plaster that separated us. She thought me dead, how would she react to spotting me outside her window? No, we were separated by far more than the wall and the few feet between us, a promise created an invisible barrier, unbreakable, undeniable. She had gained her freedom from me in that one night of ecstasy. But I couldn't be bothered to hold up my end of the bargain, could I? My body refused to keep the promise, clinging to life wretchedly as it has done for so long. So there I was, staring at her across a border that I could not breach, not without hurting her.

"_Why do I carry on?"_

What had I hoped to accomplish in coming here? The act was equivalent to reopening a fresh wound, pouring lemon juice on it, and then throwing in some salt on top of that. It was painful and stupid. Painfully stupid.

"_What am I hoping for? I cannot have you, I cannot hold you. So why?"_

I forced my dry eyes shut, gritting my teeth as her image flashed against my eyelids. I could not escape the thought of her or forget her, she was forever burned into my soul, and her love was a scar that would never fade. And why would I want it to fade?

"_Why did I return?" _

The air left my lungs in a long hollow sigh as I bowed my head in defeat. In my brooding state, as images and memories of Christine and I together swam through my mind, I did not notice the soft rustling of leaves beside me. Nor did I spot the two gleaming eyes gazing up at me from behind the wavering branches of the bush. So distracted was I that I did not see the small figure rise from the foliage. I felt my entire body go rigid as she cried out for the whole neighborhood to hear-

"Mom! There's a weird guy in a mask standing outside the house!" that said, the girl darted away with startling speed as I stood there stunned. Conflict raged between my urge to lasso the offender and have Christine see me. The word '_mom_' rang through my skull as I stupidly waited with baited breath for Christine's reaction.

"Niki what-!" Christine spun around with a look of concern that turned to surprise and then to shock in the blink of an eye. She stared and so did I, rather brazenly I think. As I if I had every right to be standing in her shrubbery.

"Erik?" The name came out in almost inaudible whisper that my keen ears caught easily, but I took the most pleasure in watching her lips sound it out. With every syllable the distance between us was breached, the barrier broken. Damn my promise to hell! I do not care!

"_Yes it is I, Erik, back from the dead! Will you call to your boy to save you from this horrid ghost who loves you so?" _I wanted to bellow, but my tongue was caught just in time by my teeth, and I held it until I tasted blood.

Christine moved out of my sight but I tracked her movement by the sound of her rapid footfalls. She was headed for the front of the house and turning in that direction I saw the little girl from before peeking at me from beside the front door. She held the doorknob in her right hand, her head tilted to the side in curiosity as she gazed at me. I noted her purple hoody, her height, her black hair, age, and every other unimportant detail before I came to the only important one. Her glowing eyes. Her glowing, yellow eyes.

The door opened and Christine stuck her head out, ushering the girl inside before moving onto the doorstep. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between us as I registered what I had just seen and what was happening at the moment. I did not expect what happened next.

. . . . .

A little later I found myself sitting at the kitchen table in Christine's home, fully welcome, as if I was an expected guest rather than a snooping voyeur she caught looking in through her window. Christine had taken my coat and hat, hung them up, and offered me a chair while she hurried about the business of preparing a pot of coffee. The girl sat across from me at the table, picking at a spot in the painted wood and glancing up at me on occasion. I could hardly believe that this was all happening. Part of me expected to wake up cold and shivering any moment now, suffering from the after-effects of a high dose of morphine. But it was neither a hallucination nor a dream; I could tell by the throbbing pain in my tongue. Even in my most terrifying nightmares there is no pain…at least not any physical pain.

The girl sitting across from me folded her arms on the table and rested her head upon them, gazing up at me with purpose. I returned the stare with silence and a cold sidelong glance. Someone needs to teach this child that it is rude to stare.

"Hi, I'm Niki, who are you?" She asked, swinging her legs under the table. She always seemed to be fidgeting or moving about in some way.

"Erik." I answered curtly, turning my gaze back to where Christine was watching the coffee brew while she cleaned two mugs. She set them gently on the white Formica counter top before spooning a bit of sugar into each.

"Are you mom's friend?" Niki asked. I was unsure how to answer that and rather disliked being interrogated by a child.

"I . . ."

"A salesman?" she piped before I could answer.

". . . ."

"A wizard?" she persisted.

"_Something like that."_ I through with a small smile. When I didn't answer, the girl's questions ceased. After a moment of silence she tilted her head, narrowed her eyes, and a mischievous smile spread across her lips.

"A serial killer?" My brows shot up at this and I turned towards her fully. Her smile only broadened.

"Was I right?" she whispered.

"Alright Niki, that's enough. Time for bed." Christine said as she approached the table, a steaming cup of coffee in each hand.

"What? No way!" the girl whined, lifting her head from her arms to stare up at Christine incredulously as if I were too great a spectacle to miss over something as trivial as sleep.

"You heard me, scoot." Christine said firmly, the girl frowned but obeyed, reluctantly getting up from the chair.

"Fine, whatever." She said as she trudged off toward the kitchen door.

"Goodnight." Christine called after her, setting her cup of coffee down on the table.

"Goodnight." Niki grumbled as she slipped through the door.

When the girl was gone Christine sat in the chair across from me with a soft laugh.

"Sorry about that. Niki's curiosity knows no end, or bounds. Here." Christine said with an apologetic smile as she handed me the second cup of coffee. I stared at it dumbly for a few seconds before quickly accepting it. I don't much like the taste of the beverage but I found the gesture touching. I was being treated like a true guest.

"I have to admit, I'm rather surprised to see you. I thought you were dead." She said after taking a tentative sip of her coffee.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you." I said, instantly regretting my biting tone.

"I don't think I would have let you into the house If I was 'disappointed'." Christine said with a small smile. I felt the corners of my mouth twitch upwards as well, the conversation so far was far more pleasant than the ones we had held ten years ago. Christine's entire manner seemed to have changed, she was relaxed in my presence, and there was something different about her. The years hadn't robbed her of her youthful beauty but she did seem . . . older, perhaps more experienced. Her expression became distant as she lifted her mug and spoke.

"It's just strange . . . seeing you again. So much has changed." She took a sip of the coffee.

"I'm definitely not where I thought I'd be at this stage of my life." She said wistfully. I frowned, why did she sound so pensive? She had her freedom from me didn't she? What else did she want?

"I'm not the same frightened little girl I was ten years ago either. That's for sure." She continued.

"You don't sound particularly pleased, I thought you and your_**boy**_ would be living the perfect life by now." I asked. Christine blinked at me in confusion for a second before she realized my meaning. Her eyes narrowed a little, her expression becoming more serious.

"My boy? Do you mean Raoul? Erik we never got married." She said and I felt my eyes widen in surprise.

"What?" I asked, stunned by this revelation and perhaps partially elated that the boy didn't have the satisfaction of her love.

"After all that happened between us I just couldn't go through with it." She began, setting her cup down as she started her explanation.

"I was stressed and confused. I blamed myself for your death and for the hardships Raoul endured to . . . 'save' me from you. The guilt ate at me." Christine looked down at the table, clutching at her cup.

"I was pregnant and jobless, marring Raoul seemed like the logical next step, but I couldn't. I left him standing at the altar while I cried in a waiting room like a child. He came in and found me and he was so understanding!" she continued and I felt my frown deepen.

"Ugh." I couldn't contain the disdainful groan. Her sweet words and the fondness in her voice when she talked of the boy made my stomach roil with anger.

"Hey! Don't give me that attitude mister!" she snapped at me, her tone matronly and stern. I blinked at her, shocked by the outburst, and she blushed suddenly.

" . . . Sorry, it's a mom thing."

"Anyway, we broke off the marriage but Raoul stood by me regardless. He helped pay for daycare so I could go back to school and got me my job at the hospital. He did this all so I could stand on my own two feet . . . I owe him so much but I just couldn't go all the way with him." She finished and then smiled, her face taking on a lighter aspect.

"Despite all the hardship I can't say I regret anything. I feel like a real person now, like I'm finally beginning to understand myself. As for being a mother, sometimes I want to tear my hair out but I love it. I love Nicole and Charles and I wouldn't give them up for the world, or to stand on any stage." She said with finality that made me grit my teeth.

"You _should_ be on a stage Christine." I said darkly. Christine's smile grew thin and she sighed.

"Erik I'm thirty years old and I have two children. A career in opera is a little out of the question." She said with a small laugh. My hands curled into fists as she spoke.

"So achieving your childhood dream and realizing your true potential is out of the question . . . but spreading your legs and **fucking** the boy was not?" I demanded in outrage. I spent years preparing her for a life on the stage, cultivating the glory of her voice, and she simply threw it all away. For what? To procreate with that sniveling boy, that idiotic aristocrat!

Christine's face went blank with shock, her mouth opening slightly to release a small sound of disbelief. Then just as I was about to speak again her expression turned fierce and she responded to my insult with just as much fury.

" . . . You did not just . . . ! Erik you're the father!" she shouted and my body went rigid, a coldness spread through my chest.

"That-that's impossible! Don't speak such lies!" I demanded, my mind spinning. It just wasn't possible. . . . The image of the girl, Niki, her eyes glowing in the dark, rose in my mind. My already balled fists tightened until my knuckles cracked and I felt my fingernails dig into the flesh of my palms.

"It's not a lie and it's not impossible. You are the father Erik!" Christine persisted.

"Oh my god!" both Christine and I turned as we heard the cry usher from behind the kitchen door. It swung open and standing in the doorway was Niki, her hands curled into fists and her eyes bright.

"I knew it!" she shouted and smiled broadly as another figure emerged from the hallway beyond, a young boy who very closely resembled Niki. Twins perhaps? The thought made my stomach churn. They didn't look like De Chagny. No, I could see some of Christine's features in them, the girl's face resembled hers, and the boy's eyes were the same shade of sky blue as his mother's. But Niki, no she had my eyes, _my eyes_.

"Niki. I told you to go to bed!" Christine snapped at the girl but Niki wasn't listening. She smiled at me with a determined and triumphant look in her eye, like she had just solved a difficult puzzle.

"You're not a wizard and you're not mom's friend! So the only logical reason she'd let you into the house is that you're our father!" she deduced with a sense of absolute certainty.

"And we have the same crazy eyes too!" she said delightedly. I just stared at her and the boy speechlessly. Christine sighed and rubbed her temples.

"I knew Mr. Chagny wasn't our real dad! I totally called it!" Niki said, pumping her fist. The boy stared at his sister for a moment before turning to me and raising a hand to give me a halfhearted wave.

"Hey." He said flatly, looking me in the eyes with a look of both disinterest and suspicion.

"Alright, that's enough. Stop pestering Erik. Both of you, go to bed now!" Christine demanded. The boy turned around almost instantly, taking his sister by the arm as she took a step forward.

"No way! This guy's been gone for nine years! He's got questions to answer!" she said in protest, struggling against her brother as she pulled her into the hallway.

"Like where he's been and . . . let me go Charley! …and what his favorite color is!" she continued to babble until the boy finally managed to pull her through the door and close it behind them. I could hear them bicker as they scuffled their way down the hall and out of earshot. Christine slumped against the back of her chair.

"What part of go to bed don't they understand? The 'go to,' or the 'bed' part?" she asked no one, running her hand through her hair in frustration. I stood up.

"Is this why you invited me inside Christine?" I asked after a minute or two of silence passed between us. Christine blinked at me and then stood herself, running a hand over her long ponytail and draping it over her shoulder.

"It's . . . part of the reason yes. I thought you had a right to know, though I didn't intend to spring it on you like I did. I was going to try and work up to it but, well . . . ." she trailed off, brushing her fingers through her hair absentmindedly.

"So what do you want? Do you wish for some sort of compensation for this burden I have saddled you with?" I asked quietly. Christine closed her eyes for a moment before turning to me, her expression sad and tired.

"It's not a burden at all Erik. I just . . . I just wanted you to know." She said her voice dropping to a whisper. I flexed my hands for a moment before striding over to the coat rack set in the wall near the front door and taking my trench coat off the hook. I pulled it on and turned back to Christine, she was still standing by her chair, her eyes roaming the terracotta colored walls of the kitchen thoughtfully. A second later she turned to me, clasping her hands in front of her and walking towards where I stood in the front hall. She leaned against the arch separating the two rooms and stared at the floor.

"So what will you do now?" she asked, tugging at the rolled up sleeves of her green blouse.

" . . . I am not sure. I need time to think on this." I said after a moment's hesitation. Christine nodded.

"It was . . . nice seeing you again." She said with a weak smile. I returned it with one of my own as I placed the fedora on my head and pulled the rim down low.

"No, it wasn't." I said and left before she could reply.

. . . . .

The night had become cooler since I had entered the house and the wind whipped at the back of my coat as I made my way down the block to my car where it was parked in the shadows. I got in and gripped the steering wheel, resting my head against it as the events of the night retraced themselves in my mind. Twins, Christine's and mine . . . it just couldn't be. I embody death. I am the living avatar of death. There is no way I could create a life, not a whole living child, let alone two. Charles and Nicole . . . were perfect, perfect children. Beautiful, innocent, there was no way in hell anything spawned from my loins could be anything other than wretched.

I started the car with a quick twist of the key and felt it roar into life. I pulled away from the curb and sped down the street, intent on returning home, intent of feeling the cold prick of the needle again.

There was movement in the back seat. I quickly pulled over and hit the brakes. There was a yelp as the car halted abruptly and someone fell over in the back. It was a high pitch cry, obviously female, but that didn't matter. I pulled the gun out of my coat pocket, for lack of room to use the lasso, and pointed it at the figure lying on the floor between the seats. My grip on the gun tightened for an instant and I pulled the weapon away, it was Niki.

She blinked up at me and then gave me a nervous smile.

"Hey." She said weakly, her eyes darting to the gun.

"Shouldn't you be in bed child." I growled at her, pocketing the gun and fully parking the car.

"Yeah." She said with another smile, the mischievous one. I wanted desperately to remove the mask and massage my temples. I was fast developing a headache.

"How did you even get in my car?" I asked. I had locked the door before I left, I know I did. I would never be so careless as to leave the doors unlocked.

"Magic." She said coyly. I glared at her and the smile weakened slightly.

"I picked the lock." She answered, pulling herself up into a sitting position.

"You picked the lock." I said in disbelief and she nodded.

"Alright, and why are you in my car per say? How did you even know this one was mine and not someone else's?" I asked slowly.

"I can recognize all the cars the people living here drive. I've never seen yours before and it's an expensive model, a Rolls-Royce Phantom. It's really cool by the way." She said, looking around the car in awe and running a hand admiringly across the leather seats.

"And why are you here?" I asked again. She turned back to me and then looked down at her knees, biting her lip.

"Well I heard you leave and . . . well I only got to see you for a few minutes . . . ." she said haltingly, as if she didn't know the reason herself. I sighed and pulled away from the curb, turning around and driving back towards Christine's house. Niki took notice of this almost immediately.

"I just . . . you're my dad you know, and you didn't say if you were coming back and I don't want you to disappear again." She said hurriedly, desperately. I parked in front of the house.

"Get out." I ordered, not bothering to look at the girl.

"Will you visit us again?" she asked.

"Get out." I growled, ready to pull her out of the car if I had to. My hand gripped the door handle.

"Please." She asked, her voice cracking just slightly. My hand remained where it was and I turned back to the girl. Her eyes were glassy with the first signs of tears and she blushed as I noticed them. She turned her head down and stared at the floor, letting her hair fall over her eyes. I felt my rotten ice block of a heart twinge just slightly, the sensation bouncing through the cracked fissure Christine had melted into its surface long ago like a pebble dropped into a thin canyon.

"Do you really want to see me again?" I asked softly.

"Yes!" She answered almost before I had finished speaking. Her conviction surprised me, so did the look of pure honesty as her glinting amber eyes locked with mine. I held that gaze for a minute, to see if she would break it, if she would turn away. She did not.

"Very well. I will come again tomorrow evening." I said and the smile lit once again on the girl's lips.

"Really?" she asked, sounding relived and elated with my answer. What a strange girl, I thought. What a stupid little girl.

"Yes." I said. Niki pumped her fists again in victory.

"Now get out of my car."

**If you are interested there is a comic version of this story in the works on deviant art. Just look up 'my father the phantom' and you should find it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Your comments are greatly appreciated and very helpful.**

My father the Phantom

Chapter 2

The Decision

I watched the body swing with grim satisfaction as I stood at the torture chamber's control council. The lights in the chamber dimmed as I set the program on standby and the two way viewport took on a reflective quality, revealing the image of the man seated behind me as he struggled against his bonds, whimpering and grunting with effort. I turned to the man after another minute or so of observation and he winced reflexively at the sight of my unmasked face, struggled more desperately as I strode lazily towards him. Blood dripped from his broken nose to stain the jacket of his expensive suit, yellow and purple bruises blossomed across his skin in several places, swelling and darkening, marring his handsome face. I circled him, feeding off his fear for a moment before starting the interrogation.

"Now Mr. Andrews I trust that you have learned that intruding on someone's property can have unpleasant consequences. You're quite lucky you know, falling into the pit rather than the torture chamber during my routine inspection. Erik is not usually so kind to uninvited guests. Too bad your friend didn't have the same luck." I said conversationally.

"Please." He sobbed, "Please don't put me in there."

"You don't like the torture chamber? I've always found it an amusing spectacle but . . . to each their own, I suppose." I said with a shrug. The young man tucked his head down against his chest, closing his eyes tight against the sight of his partner's dangling body and my face. My hand darted forward, gripping his yellow hair and I wrenched his head upwards so that he faced me. His eyes snapped open and flicked over my face for an instant, he cried out and began jerking his head left and right to free himself.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you boy! I'd figured Nadir would have taught you better than this." I hissed. He stopped struggling at the sound of his director's name, his eyes wide with surprise. I turned his face up towards mine.

"That's better. Now I'm going to ask you a question. If I like the answer you may live, if I don't . . . well I'm sure your friend would like some company." I said and he nodded, swallowing harshly.

"Why did Nadir send you?" I asked.

"W-we were sent to scout the area in search of you but not make contact. We were to return once we'd found proof or evidence of your presence in the area. I think he wants to speak to you." Mr. Andrews replied, tripping over his words in his hast to do so.

"Why did he send you rather than come himself? That is his custom." I pressed on. Nadir never sent his agents after me before. He knows it's a death sentence.

"He wasn't sure where to find you since you left the opera or if you were even still alive. We'd heard reports about the land out here being purchased twenty years ago by a strange man in a mask." he said and I nodded, releasing his hair and letting his head drop back on to his chest. I began pacing and raised a shaking hand to my face, rubbing my temples fiercely. Khan you pesky, meddling idiot. I thought I had the old man fooled when the paper published news of my death, ten years of peace and now here he is again! When would he learn to keep well enough alone! The man is sixty years old why the hell isn't he retired?

"What does he wish to speak to me about?" I asked, stopping my pacing and turning to face the boy again.

"He didn't say." Andrews said after a short pause.

"I see." I said. I could feel the nervous tension flowing off of the boy. I remained silent a moment, savoring his fear and discomfort.

"Please . . . I've answered you're questions! Let me go and I'll never come back! I promise!" he cried. I gave him a sidelong glance, a grim smirk tugging at my lips.

"I could release you, but you see I've worked very hard to have my whereabouts be unknown to your organization. If I let you go all that work will be for not." I said with a false note of regret tinting my voice. Andrew's blanched, his eyes growing wider, sweat gathering on his brow.

"Please! I won't tell anyone! I swear!" he begged.

"How will you explain your bruises, hmm? Or the loss of your friend?" I continued, perhaps enjoying myself a little too much.

"Please! I have a wife and children!" he sobbed. I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it. Something stirred in me as he muttered out the word children.

Children . . .

The memory of the previous night floated to the forefront of my mind like heavy storm clouds. Images of Christine followed a wave of shame as I remembered the despicable behavior I had displayed after she had so graciously invited me into her home and treated me with such civility. A moan escaped me as I thought of the childish accusations and the lack of control I displayed. What was I thinking? No I hadn't been thinking had I?

The revelation that I was a father had shocked and terrified me. Truly terrified me. I never knew my father, I don't know how to be a father, and I never thought I would be. Knowing that I had forced Christine to bear and mother my children alone was even worse. I reacted badly to the surprise. I never react well when surprised. I don't like being surprised. I hate it.

Regardless, I know I must make up for this grievance. My breakdown doesn't serve as an excuse for the behavior I displayed. I have to apologize. I have to beg for forgiveness even though I don't deserve it. I can't live with Christine hating me. Yet after all I put her through how could she not?

The boy, the agent, the miserable waste of flesh and blood sitting before me was trying to work loose of his bonds. I kicked his chair over, the act a fine outlet for the frustration gnawing at my insides. His head cracked against the floor and he moaned, I placed a foot on the edge of the seat and bent over to stare down at him. His eyes rolled for a moment as his vision focused, his gaze drifting up towards me eventually.

"Well Mr. Andrews I've decided to let you live." I said and hope flickered into the boy's eyes. The darker part of my heart wanted to crush that little light beneath my foot but I managed quashed the urge. I caught the boys gaze and held it, like a snake hypnotizing a bird.

"_No listen closely Mr. Andrews. You will forget this place. You will forget that you ever came here and that you ever saw me. You will forget your friend and that Nadir ever sent you to find me. You will return home to your family._" The boy's mind molded like warm clay under the influence of my voice. His eyes went blank, his gaze distant as he nodded obediently. I untied him and blindfolded him, escorting him away from my home to the outer reaches of the forest where his car was parked. I left him there, sinking into the shadows before repeating my command, making utterly sure that the boy's memory was wiped.

...

I returned home after watching the car drive off until it was no longer visible. I shut down the torture chamber and headed for the music room, the automatic lock on the control room door clicking behind me as I departed. The interrogation had taken less time than I had estimated, leaving me with some room to contemplate the situation with Christine and . . . the children. The matter with Nadir could wait, for now.

My eyes trailed the full stretch of the polished wooden floorboards as I made my way down the hall, thinking, plotting. Trying to find the words I would need to win Christine's forgiveness. Would she even let me into her home again, let alone open the door for me? It wasn't likely, but getting past locked doors has never been a problem for me. Perhaps I could use the children in some way . . . ? The little girl, Nicole, she'd seemed rather eager to have me visit again. Mayhaps she could persuade her mother to forgive me?

I stopped walking as I realized that I had taken the wrong turn and was standing before the door to Christine's room, or what had once been her room. My hand was on the doorknob, I hadn't even noticed the act of grabbing it. I stared at it for a full two minutes like it was some foreign object I'd never encountered before. Another minute passed before I removed my hand from the cold brass.

I visited the room often. Stopping by at least once every week to stare at the door and imagine Christine was inside, sleeping or reading or . . . crying. I never opened the door, I knew she wasn't there, but it felt good to imagine that she was, and that maybe she was waiting for me like she had been that one night. My eyes closed as the memory of that blissful evening washed over me and swathed me in the remembered sensations of warm, soft flesh. She had burned me everywhere she touched me that night, her skin was fire, mine was ice. She melted me into nothing and I thought surely I would die. She left me thinking I was dead, sobbing and sullied by my touch, and I remained, content to lie there until I was nothing but dust.

Then after what seemed like years of beautiful nothingness, thirst came, and grew until I thought my throat was on fire. Then hunger, a distant and aloof acquaintance of mine, invaded only to be followed by other needs calling for me to lift myself from the cold sheets and continue on with my dreary existence. Thirst was the strongest of them all and what a powerful master it was, I could not resist its call no matter how hard I tried to defy. I broke under the yearning like a dry rubber band and rushed for the bathroom across from the bed to satisfy my thirst and then other needs.

In the end I found I could not simply lie there and die. I could not bring myself to suicide and my tolerance for the morphine had grown too strong for the heavy doses to do the job. My wasted body was resilient and obstinate in its desire to cling to life. So I trudged on with my miserable existence, falling into the same routine I had practiced before Christine had even come to my notice.

I left the opera house and moved into another I had built away from the city just in case my home underneath the opera were to be discovered by one of the many groups seeking me. No doubt Nadir and his agents are running around the opera right now searching for clues right now, he'll have a hard time reaching the house again though. I made sure to collapse and barricade the tunnels and passage ways before I left. Have fun with that Daroga.

My new home was initially nowhere as grand as the house under the opera but I have made improvements to it over the years, busying myself with repairs and setting up new traps around the perimeter to distract me from the passage of time and Christine's absence. I have come to find the serenity of the forest surrounding my new abode calming, it agrees with me far better than the busy, noisy streets of the city ever did. Ah but I do miss the music, the faint cords of the orchestra flowing through the walls and cellars. The only sounds that break the silence here are the distant calls of animals as they echo into the network of caves my home is built into.

The only soul made aware of my new location was Jules, who brings me supplies, groceries, and other amenities in exchange for a handsome salary. Then, after ten quiet years of service, he brought me something new, the address of Christine's home. This information did not come completely out of the blue. Apart from doing my shopping Jules performs . . . other tasks for me from time to time. He is an agent of sorts, like Mr. Andrews you could say, except that he is better trained and skilled.

I send Jules out to collect information from time to time (particularly on the activities of any members of the FBI in the area) and he returned to me one evening with the news that Nadir had recently contacted Christine. Apparently the old buzzard had been checking up on her every now and then to make sure I wasn't making visits. Obviously he hadn't believed me dead as she had. He made sure the house was monitored by an agent and watched at night just in case.

I faced exposure by seeking her out but like a moth drawn to a flame once I knew where she was I could not resist. I took care of the agent the night I visited her, twisting his mind to my whims with my voice, making a puppet out of him. He would continue to monitor the house, but he wouldn't have anything to report. He would go back to Nadir and say it had been just another calm night, no stalkers or masked men to be seen.

Add the events of last night and we come to the current dilemma. Should I return?

I thought of Nicole and of my promise. I didn't have to return, it would probably be best for them if I didn't. Yet she had seemed so earnest when she asked me to come again and . . . I have to admit I am a bit curious about her and her brother, Charles. The love of a child is sweet and simple. I nearly stole the heart of Nadir's own son to have it for myself. The days spent with the boy, Reza, had been filled with both joy and sorrow. Even though I had to cut that little life short I can't say that I regret having met him.

I turned from Christine's door, my mood dampened by the memory of Nadir's son's death and the emptiness beyond the threshold. I wandered the halls, pulling out my watch to check the time. Six o'clock, if I was going leave it had to be now. It would take an hour and a half to reach the city and I didn't want to arrive too late, lest the children be sent to bed before I even get there.

"I promised didn't I?" I asked myself as I pocketed the watch. If the children are mine I have a right to see them. **If** they are mine. I do not doubt Christine's integrity on the matter but wrapping my head around the idea of being a father is . . . difficult. Yet who else could Nicole have inherited those eyes from? Would she accept me if she came to know me? She seemed willing, Charles less so. Would Christine allow me to become a part of their lives? After what I said, knowing what I've done? I suppose there is only one way to find out. I only hope Christine doesn't mind me showing up uninvited once more.

**If you are interested there is a comic version of this story in the works on deviant art. Just look up 'my father the phantom' and you should find it.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for stopping by, I hope you enjoy the story. Special thanks to all those who commented. **

My father the Phantom

Chapter 3

Subterfuge

Nicole leaned against the windowsill in her room, gazing down at the road just beyond her door as the sun slowly sank below the horizon. She was waiting.

"What if he isn't coming back?" she whispered to no one, a thoughtful frown pulling at her lips as she scratched at the flaking white paint on the sill.

"What if I never see him again?"

Her feelings on the matter were mixed. She wanted to see him again, but he had been gone for most of her life and she could plausibly carry on without getting to know him. Couldn't she live on without knowing the man whose name her mother called out in her sleep and whispered to herself when she believed no one was listening?

Hell no! This mystery was far too sweet to ignore, especially now that she'd met Erik. He intrigued her, he was an enigma, one she wanted to crack open and delve into like an adventurer seeking treasure in a dark cave. He was odd too, kind of a jerk, but still she wanted to know him.

And the mask . . . what was that about? She asked her mother about it that morning and was taken aback by the intensity of her mother's reaction.

"Never, never ever, do you hear me? I'm serious Nicole! Never ask him about the mask." She said, her expression grim and hard. She never talked to Nicole like this, not even when scolding her. It made her even more curious.

"But why?" Nicole persisted, even though she knew she shouldn't, even though she probably wouldn't get a good answer. She was nine after all and it was her sworn duty to annoy her mother with bothersome questions.

"Because . . . because it's a touchy subject for your father and . . . he gets angry when people ask about it. No more questions alright! Just don't even think about it." Her mother struggled to find an explanation while she violently folded one of Charles's t-shirts. Nicole's curiosity wasn't satisfied. She wanted to press the matter but the look of worry on her mother's face made her think twice. Perhaps it would be best to take her advice as far as the mask thing went. She wanted to have Erik like her after all, if talking about the mask made him angry it could ruin her chances and that was the last thing she wanted. So she dropped the subject.

The idea of Erik returning seemed to agitate Christine. Nicole couldn't blame her for being angry with him after what he said last night, she was a little mad herself, but her curiosity overcame all obstacles, even emotional ones. However, her brother Charles (or Charley as Niki called him) wasn't as forgiving or as interested as she was.

"I don't like him." He'd said flat out as they made their way up to their bedrooms the evening of Erik's first visit.

"Charley you don't even know him." Niki replied, giving her brother's shoulder a light shove as they reached the top of the stairs.

"He's a jerk! You heard how he talked to mom! And . . . and he's creepy. He moves like a spider." Charley said, stopping in front of the door to his room. He wasn't a fan of anything with more than four legs. Erik had given off a spider like vibe and he moved with the same threatening grace. He was so thin he looked like a scarecrow. If he stood still in a patch of trees Niki doubted she'd be able to pick him out at first glance.

Nicole nodded thoughtfully. Erik had been incredibly rude, but he'd looked like a cornered animal in the kitchen chair, like he wasn't sure what to expect or to do. He'd hid it with an air of cold indifference but Niki's perceptive skills were keen and she could see subtle cracks in the façade. Like the way his long fingers twitched from time to time.

He'd still been a jerk though and there was no excuse for that

"True yeah . . . but I'm still willing to give him a second chance. He's our Dad Charley. Can you really tell me you're not curious at all?" Niki asked, giving her brother a frank and demanding glare.

"Yes. Yes I can." Charley said with a sour expression as he opened his bedroom door and slipped inside, leaving the door half open to say.

"I'm not curious and I want him to leave. I wish we hadn't left him and mom alone. I don't trust him." The door closed after that, leaving Nicole standing alone.

"Who's the jerk now?" She asked reproachfully as she slunk towards her own room. She paused when she heard footsteps downstairs moving towards the front door. Was he leaving already? It'd only been a minute or two since they'd left the kitchen. She could hear the murmur of conversation but couldn't make out the words. The tone was secretive and sad, like a final goodbye.

Was he leaving for good? Not if Niki had anything to say about it.

Niki rushed into here room and pulled open the window, not even bothering to put on a pair of shoes before springing out with her hands cast outward. She caught one of the lower branches of the oak tree outside her window and dropped the rest of the way to the lawn, landing on all fours but tipping over like an awkward cat. She rolled onto her feet and ran, searching for a car, any car that a creepy man in a trench coat might own. A block down from their house, hidden in shadow, she found a black Rolls Royce. The car was obviously too expensive to belong to any of the people living in the neighborhood and she could practically smell her father on it.

Niki glanced around twice and then pulled a thin strip of metal from a pocket in her shorts. The cool spring night made her hands cold and her fingers stiff, so it was hard to work the lock, but she eventually managed to pop it and open the door.

Lock picking was a skill she picked up out of curiosity rather than necessity. She'd simply wanted to know if she could do it and like most things that she put her mind to, she accomplished it. She'd always been good with her hands and with tools, much to her mother's dismay. Locks had always fascinated her, so she tried to take the one on the bathroom door apart. Understanding the inner workings of a lock made them easier to pick after all. But she ended up putting it back together wrong and her mother got trapped inside after a shower. They had to call a fireman to break down the door and get her out. Niki was grounded for a month.

Past failures aside, Niki had grown quite skilled with a lock pick. She learned how to make off the internet. You can learn to make anything off the internet, even bombs, which was something Niki was also curious about.

Nicole slipped inside the car and hid in the shadows of the back seat, content that when they were alone, she could convince her father to come visit again. Niki hadn't been expecting the gun however or the look of pure murder in her Father's eyes when he'd caught on to the presence of an intruder. It was at once terrifying and awesome. Erik was getting more and more interesting by the minute and in the end she'd succeeded in convincing him to come back. All it had taken was a little emotional wheedling and puppy eyes.

Erik dropped her off and she'd snuck back into her room victorious. She didn't care if Charley and her mother weren't happy about it. If she wanted it, Niki got it, one way or another. With good behavior or subterfuge, whatever it took. Now all that was left to do was wait.

…

Charles stared down at the sheet music in his lap, humming along quietly as he read the music. He fell out of key as his mind wandered back to the strange man who'd visited the night before. Charles knew from the moment he saw the man that he couldn't be trusted. Something about Erik was off and it wasn't just his appearance. His voice had a creeping power in it that frightened Charles and made him think of steam drifting off fresh hot blood spilt on the cold ground.

What sort of man stares in through windows in the middle of night? Rapists and murders, or at least that was Charles's opinion. Erik had the air of someone who'd killed before, of someone who had committed violent acts. Yet Nicole had been drawn to Erik. How and why Charles wasn't really sure, considering that he was so repulsed.

Niki always took the opposite path. If Charles felt one way about something she'd feel the other, sometimes on purpose. Niki was too curious for her own good, it'd gotten her into trouble before, and it would get her into trouble again. Charles couldn't always be there to make sure she didn't get into trouble. He could hardly control her anyway.

When Niki told him that Erik would be returning Charles had been furious and their mother hadn't been too happy herself. He'd been surprised when Christine had allowed it despite her displeasure. Maybe she'd agreed because Niki seemed so desperate to see Erik again, maybe she wanted to see him again herself. Charles didn't want to believe that she did.

Charles stared at the keys of the piano he was sitting at, plunking out a few notes before setting the sheet music aside. After a minute he turned and looked at the violin case sitting in the corner of the small room. Charles played a few more notes, louder this time, but minutes ticked by and he didn't hear the rush of footsteps nearing the music room. Niki usually jumped at the chance to play with him, it was one of the few things they could do together without fighting. They were working on a song, one of fifteen that would be on their first album.

"You and me, we'll be Famous. Awesome composers like Thomas Bergersen." Niki had said when they'd started work on their first song. She was a huge fan of Neo Orchestral music. Charles preferred Classical but he enjoyed the work of Two Steps from Hell. They mixed the two, or at least tried too. They were talented for their age but Charles was sure it'd be a long time before they were ready to produce albums, and even longer before they were famous. It was fun to write songs with Niki though, and it annoyed him that she was too busy waiting around for Erik to practice with him.

The thought of Erik made him frown, but there was nothing to do about it now. Perhaps Nicole would lose her interest. Maybe Erik would eventually go away. At least Charles hoped he would. The man didn't seem all that sociable.

"I suppose there's nothing to do but wait and see." Charles said with a resigned sigh and began to play.

The twins waited, the sun set.

…

**Sorry for the long wait and short chapter. I'll be updating again soon, I just needed to work out a plot point for later and decide whether I'm keeping this somewhat realistic or if I'm going to add some supernatural elements. It's my weakness. I find realism boring as hell when I'm trying to write it. **

**Suggestions and critiques are welcome and greatly appreciated. **


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